


my gift is my song (and this one's for you)

by bellawritess



Series: your song [2]
Category: 5 Seconds of Summer (Band)
Genre: Boys In Love, Canon Dialogue, Inspired by Music, Kissing, M/M, Rocketman AU, Romance, Songfic, ah well, broke my first kiss tag streak, but idk if it's really fair, michael and calum are in love, since this is basically just a continuation of the first installment, these tags are so boring i should say something interesting, your song scene rewrite
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-24
Updated: 2020-05-24
Packaged: 2021-03-03 02:26:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,910
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24357274
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bellawritess/pseuds/bellawritess
Summary: There are certain invariable facts: London is the capital of England, E flat is the most beautiful key to play in, and Michael is in love with Calum Hood.
Relationships: Michael Clifford/Calum Hood
Series: your song [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1758595
Comments: 7
Kudos: 27





	my gift is my song (and this one's for you)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [softirwin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/softirwin/gifts).



> once again this fic is for helen i hope you like it and dont hate me for writing the most annoying kind of fic ever aka a songfic that writes out all the lyrics (even tho this is literally just how the rocketman scene goes ughgdfjdlkjj;akf that movie is such a fucking masterpiece) anyway. dont look at me and try to tell me that your song isnt the most beautiful and sincere love song ever written,,,you will be wrong.  
> title is from your song by elton john again although if i have to tell you that....idk what youre even doing here

There are certain invariable facts: London is the capital of England, E flat is the most beautiful key to play in, and Michael is in love with Calum Hood.

He hadn’t meant to be. In fact, he’d tried not to be, because it can be difficult, being in love with your closest (and only) work partner, and it’s bad enough that they’re fucking. This thing he and Calum have is unnamed, and as such unaddressed. They sleep in the same bed most nights, and kiss a lot, and have passionate sex that leaves both of them breathless, but they’re not, like,  _ dating — _ they're not in love _. _ They can’t be. At this stage in their career, one scandal like that and they’re out of the game forever.

So it’s not like Michael has been seeing Calum casually for a few weeks and is starting to feel something more. It’s more like Michael had watched Calum chew on his lower lip as he worked on lyrics over breakfast one morning, and it had hit him full force.

Michael’s in love with Calum. That’s just one more thing he has to repress and never think about. It’s not like he’s wanting for much, anyway; the realization hasn’t put much of a damper on his life, because Calum’s right there, always, just within arm’s reach, so willing and easy and pliant that Michael thinks it’s too good to be true.  _ Calum _ is too good to be true, and he’s too gorgeous to be Michael’s, but here they are anyway.

(He’s not Michael’s, not really, Michael has to remind himself regularly. At any point Calum could decide to go get a girlfriend or fuck someone else, and Michael would have to be okay with it.

Calum doesn’t seem like he plans to do that anytime soon, though.)

Michael wakes up and decides today is going to be a no-pants day, because it’s his own fucking house and he can do what he likes. His mum will fuss, probably, but Michael’s also an adult, so her words don’t hold much weight anymore. 

He treads heavily as he takes the stairs, and when he enters the kitchen Calum is already awake, along with the rest of his family. “Morning,” he greets them all. Calum doesn’t acknowledge him; there’s a pen in his hand and he looks close to being done with something, so Michael doesn’t bitch at him for it.

“Get dressed, Mikey,” his mum says.

“ _ Michael, _ ” Michael corrects her, forcefully. Calum’s the only one who calls him Mikey, and that’s only because he’s too much of a little bitch to listen when Michael tells him not to. He ties his bathrobe anyway, as a compromise.

“I’m not having you moping around here all day,” his mum says, which is funny. What’ll she do? Kick him out?

“We’re songwriting,” Michael tells her. He jerks his chin at Calum for emphasis. Calum glances up at Michael’s mum, then at Michael, as if only just realizing there’s a conversation going on above his head.

Michael skids his eyes over the pages Calum’s scribbling on, but he’s a moment too late to read them; Calum picks them up, staring at them as if they’ve unlocked the secret to the universe, and Michael doesn’t hear anything anyone else says after that. Calum looks the way he looks when he’s got a winner, and Michael wants it.

Sure enough, moments later Calum hands the pages off to Michael, wordlessly. Michael takes them and scans the lyrics:  _ it’s a little bit funny, this feeling inside. I’m not one of those who can easily hide. _

His heart rate picks up, and he’s not sure why. These words are  _ personal _ , and  _ sincere _ , and they feel like —

They feel like how Michael feels, about Calum.

He looks back at Calum, and wants to ask a million things, but his mum’s in here, still fucking talking, so he just says, meekly, “There’s egg on this,” and then immediately leaves the kitchen. He can hear this song, already. God, he can hear it so clearly that Calum might have plagiarized it. Except he can’t have, because Michael would surely remember hearing a song this — well — 

_ Adoring, _ Michael’s subconscious provides. 

He sits at the piano and sets the lyrics on the music stand, and when he puts his fingers to the keys (Calum calmly saying, “I better go take a shave, I think,” in the background), the melody appears unbidden. It’s like it’s been sitting under his fingertips for years, just waiting for the right words, and now they’re here, and Michael’s heart is too big for his chest, and his lungs too small, and he plays every note and tentatively sings.

“It’s a little bit funny,” he starts, “this feeling inside. I’m not one of those who can easily hide.” He pauses, takes a breath. “Don’t have much money, but, boy, if I did…I’d buy a big house where we both could live.” 

He can feel these lyrics in his bones. He wants to sing them to Calum, to look in Calum’s eyes and say  _ this is what I’ve felt for you since the day we met in that cafe and sang “Streets of Laredo” too loud to be appropriate, since I kissed you on the roof and you kissed me back, since I’ve fucking known you _ .

But these aren’t even his words. They’re Calum’s. These aren’t his own thoughts, or feelings.

Something moves in his periphery. “If I was a sculptor,” he continues, and then chuckles a bit at the next line, “but then again…no.” He glances to the side, and Calum’s standing at the doorway, mesmerized. Michael smiles and looks back at the lyrics. “Or a man who makes potions in a traveling show. I know it’s not much, but it’s the best I can do.” He turns his head, slows down a bit, and meets Calum’s eyes. “My gift is my song, and this one’s for you.”  _ For you, _ he thinks, with his whole heart and soul, and Calum looks spellbound by the music and a little bit scared and a little bit desperate, but there’s no mistaking the amount of love in his gaze as he watches Michael. Even Michael can see it, and he feels it all the way into his fingertips.

He looks back at the words just as Calum cracks a smile, so sudden that the room lights up with it. “So excuse me forgetting, but these things I do; you see I’ve forgotten, if they’re green or they’re blue,” and oh,  _ oh _ . Sometimes Calum tries to write from Michael’s perspective, but not this one. Calum’s eyes are deep and brown, and Michael’s the one with the blue-green eyes that change colors whenever they fucking feel it, apparently.

“Anyway, the thing is…what I really mean,” Michael goes on, and hides a smile as he sings it. It’s just like Calum to write lyrics like this, so stream-of-consciousness, to say things like  _ anyway _ and  _ then again, no _ and try to double back and explain himself. This isn’t just a song; this is a letter, a message, and Michael feels every feeling ever about being the one receiving it.

He reads the next line and almost stutters over it; as it is, he has to tense his jaw so he doesn’t cry. “Yours are the sweetest eyes I’ve ever seen,” he sings, softly, because this isn’t a line for the world to hear, this is  _ his _ , his and Calum’s. 

He thinks Calum is still standing in the doorway, but he’s too nervous to look over now, afraid that one glance will make him too misty-eyed to read the words, or make his palms too sweaty to play. He’s overwhelmed with love, and he’s not done with the song just yet.

“And you can tell everybody, this is your song,” Michael goes on, and fuck it — he turns his head again, and Calum is still there, wide-eyed and staring, like he can’t quite believe something. “It may be quite simple, but now that it’s done, I hope you don’t mind, I hope you don’t mind that I put down in words…” He nearly chokes on the next part. “How wonderful life is, while you’re in the world,” he manages, gentle.

He doesn’t deserve these words, but he knows they’re his. And when he looks again at Calum, thoughtlessly playing a final chord, he knows that Calum knows that he knows they’re for him.

He glances around himself when he finishes. He mum and gran are both sat in the room; Michael feels exposed, and he needs to be alone with Calum, like, yesterday.

Calum blinks at him, doe-eyed, then steals out of the room, and Michael swallows thickly and follows after him, footfalls muted by the carpet.

He closes their door behind him. Calum’s standing in the middle of the room like he’s not quite sure what to do with himself.

“You wrote that?” Michael says. Okay, stupid question. He amends, “For me.”

It’s supposed to be a question, but comes out like a statement. Calum nods.

“Did you mean it?”

Calum stares at him. “How could I not mean it, Mikey?”

“Fuck,” Michael says. “That’s, like. A love song.”

“Yeah.”

“A real, proper love song, not some cheesy poppy  _ Daniel you’re a star _ shit.”

“Yeah,” Calum says, nervous but steady.

“For me,” Michael says again. He’s not sure he can believe it.

“Yeah,” Calum says a third time. “Is that okay?”

“Yes, it’s fucking okay,” Michael says, a little out of breath. “More than okay. But I thought we were — like. I don’t know. Not…that.” He sees Calum flinch, and hurriedly adds, “But I don’t care. I want to be that.”

“You do?” Calum says.

“Fuck, are you kidding me, Cal? I love you. I — I love you more than anyone’s ever loved. I didn’t think I was capable of love until I met you. You make me feel like I’m something more, like I’m something worthwhile, like I’m artwork, when in reality  _ you’re _ the artwork, and I’m just the lucky bastard who —”

Calum cuts him off with a searing kiss, and Michael startles and then sinks into it. The kiss spreads to every part of him, more than it ever has; he can feel it in his palms and the arches of his feet and his stomach and his chest. He wraps his arms around Calum’s waist and pulls him in, crowding as close as he can. He’s kissed Calum too many times to count, but this one says everything he wasn’t allowed to say before.  _ I love you. I mean it. I love you. I mean it. I love you. I mean it. _

Calum pants against Michael’s lips when they break apart, and Michael feels dizzy. “Mine are the sweetest eyes you’ve ever seen?” he can’t help asking. “Really?”

“Fuck off,” Calum grumbles.

“No, it’s cute.” Michael kisses Calum again. “Very romantic. Didn’t know you had it in you.”

“I haven’t anymore,” Calum says. “It’s yours now.  _ Your Song _ , you see?”

Michael shakes his head. “Cal, it’s our song,” he says quietly.

“The name of the song is  _ Your Song _ , you idiot,” Calum says.

Michael shoves his shoulder for ruining the moment, but Calum grabs his sleeve as he stumbles back, and they both collapse onto the bed.

(They don’t leave the bed for a while.)

(Michael could die right now and he’d die a happy man.)

**Author's Note:**

> okay i hope u liked it helen it is your turn....write the tiny dancer scene coward. do it.  
> (if u have another rocketman scene you want written that's??? a cool idea you can send it along to me on tumblr!!) i'm on tumblr [@clumsyclifford](https://clumsyclifford.tumblr.com/) come say hey give me fic ideas yell at me whatever you wanna do :) leave a comment if u liked it andddd ill? see you later i guess ok byeeee


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